


Grey Hare

by InfiniteSeahorse



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: A Link Between Worlds
Genre: Aging, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fade to Black, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22580347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfiniteSeahorse/pseuds/InfiniteSeahorse
Summary: Ravio overreacts when he discovers his first few grey hairs. Princess Hilda and Link try to reassure him that he's not dying any time soon.
Relationships: Link/Ravio (Legend of Zelda), Ravio & Princess Hilda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 86





	Grey Hare

On the day Ravio finds his first grey hair, he flies into a panic. He does not notice the change in his appearance in the morning— he never sees himself properly until several hours after he rises. He’s a creature of habit, and his daily routine has him tiptoeing through the darkened house, silently gathering and donning his clothes, then blindly rifling through a kitchen cupboard for a bite to eat on his way to Lorule Castle, where he will have a more substantial and fully illuminated breakfast. In the twenty-some-odd years he has lived with Link, he has yet to see his husband wake up first, not even when he kisses his sleep-lined cheek goodbye, but he knows if he’s loud enough, or lights a lamp, the Hero of Hyrule will rouse himself from his slumber long enough to complain about it.

Ravio spends a productive morning alongside Princess Hilda. As the Hero of Lorule and Her Highness’ most trusted advisor, his duties on any given day are wide and varied, but this morning has him sitting in on a series of meetings that take up all his concentration. The seat he chooses at the long table in the formal room reserved for negotiating treaties is as far away as he can get from the single antique mirror installed in the center of the wall. If the mirror had been contemporary, it would have been removed, along with the countless others Yuga had insisted upon encrusting the castle’s interior with during his tenure. Ravio has developed an unconscious aversion to looking at himself. His reflection has never measured up to his own mental image.

When lunchtime rolls around, he walks the short distance back to his house to make a meal for Link and himself. It’s a benefit of living close to one’s workplace, and with their dissimilar schedules, it’s a guaranteed time of day when they get to see each other. While he stands near the entryway, removing his boots, he glances at the small mirror mounted above the coat rack and flinches when he sees something glinting in his hair. An errant beam of sunlight is shining through the window, highlighting something pale on the top of his head. He brushes his hand through his hair, but nothing shakes out. Frowning, he stands fully in front of the mirror and studies his reflection. Turning his head this way and that to get a better view, Ravio can see more than a dozen spots of white standing out in the shaggy black curtain he calls a hairstyle. The white strands are attached to his head. The white strands are _his hair. His hair is going grey._

Ravio’s heartbeat starts thumping erratically in his chest when the realization hits. His head feels light, disconnected from the rest of his body, pushing aside thoughts of lunch. The energy drains from his limbs and he wonders how much time he has left before he keels over from old age. An overreaction, perhaps, but the suddenness of his discovery has hit him like the percussion of a bomb blast. He peers into the mirror again, counting the shimmering grey streaks. Too many to have sprung up overnight. Too many to pluck, and what was that old saying? For every one hair you pull out, three more grow back in its place? He can’t chance it, even if it is just a tale. His eyes roam over his reflection, examining his entire face with a keen focus. _Oh no._ The lines on his forehead, have they always been so deep, so furrowed? There are creases in the corners of his eyes and on either side of his nose and mouth— evidence of his unhappy youth, all too visible in his dotage. And what about his neck, the sagging skin there hangs like curtains from his chin. Should he grow a beard to hide the evidence? But what if that grows in grey too? He tries to relax, to wipe the worry off his face and start from a neutral position, but it's impossible. He's too upset, and looking in the mirror is making it worse. The reminders of his mortality are everywhere he looks. He has to cover it up somehow...

Tearing himself away from the glassy truth of his decrepitude, Ravio runs around to every storage container in the house, rummaging through cabinets and drawers until he finds a large purple hood modeled after a rabbit’s face. It was what he wore to conceal his identity while hiding out in Hyrule, and he hasn’t worn it in years, not since Link triumphed over Yuga and helped set Lorule back to rights. It was no longer necessary for Ravio to cover the face that was identical to the hero’s, but he had kept it anyway, folded as much as he could and wrapped in a thin white sheet to keep it safe from dust and critters. He finds it in the back of a wardrobe, underneath a few empty rupee sacks that make him feel faint with loss for a few heart wrenching seconds. He reminds himself that the rupees served their purpose long ago, just like his hood had. They were instrumental in rebuilding his homeland— one wish on the Triforce went only so far, and cold hard cash more than made up the difference.

He unwraps the hood, unrolling the ears carefully, and gives it a fond pat before he plops it on his head. A wave of nostalgia flows over him as he settles it in place and peers through its shaded eyeholes. As he breathes under his old head covering, he takes in the mingled aromas of musty fabric and the faded floral scent of the soap he used to use on body, clothing, and dishes alike. Mr. Hero didn’t use body soap in those days. He didn’t even know what it was when Ravio asked for it that first week of his tenancy, which Ravio had found hard to believe. Sure, they were both orphans, but if the Lorulean knew that there was a specific cleaning product to use on one’s laundry and another for washing one’s self, surely the boy from the land that wasn’t mired in grinding poverty and literally falling apart at the seams would know about it too? But he didn’t, and they both shared a single cake of all-purpose soap until Ravio found something more suitable for skin for sale in the nearby village.

 _I was so cowardly back then,_ Ravio thinks as he adjusts the hood on his head. _Yuga was right to call me a worm._ All his feelings of cowardice and shame come flooding back as he remembers his miserable last weeks before running away to Hyrule. _I ran to find a hero, and I found one._ He grasps the hood in his hands by its ears, ready to fling it off and return it to its lightless corner in the wardrobe, but he hesitates. He thought he had changed, grown more mentally and emotionally secure since he fled from and returned to his homeland, but maybe not as much as he had hoped. The silvery threads running through his hair taunt him. The comfort of the hood grows stronger, soothing his worries. _Cover it up. No one will see, no one will know._ His hands relax and rest on the top of the hood, patting it down securely in place.

Every inhale and exhale of scented air drawn deep into his lungs echoes in Ravio’s ears, amplified by the stiff fabric curving around his face. His ears gradually adjust to the changed level and quality of sound, and unconsciously, he prepares for the opening of a shop door and the pounding steps of boots upon the entryway. It reminds him that he is, in fact, waiting for someone to show up, and he shakes himself from his half-remembered recollection to rush to the kitchen and begin making lunch.

In their youth, the heroes of Hyrule and Lorule had looked as similar as two peas in a pod, if pea plants were given to making multicolored peas. At first glance, people who saw the two young men side-by-side would often do a double-take, rubbing their eyes or shaking their heads back and forth until they reconciled their view with their knowledge. Now, time and circumstance has wrought enough change over the years to effect significant changes in their physiques. Not so much that they no longer look alike— they will always share the same sparkling eyes, the same upturned nose, the same smile that curves and teases and spreads into a grin when the other is around— but their different jobs have shaped their bodies to suit their circumstances.

Link is a blacksmith, with burly arms and a wide back bulking up his slim frame. Ravio is a royal advisor, and while the job used to involve a lot of adventure and travel, these days it consists of a lot of walking and talking, with an emphasis on talking. Two things he's good at doing, but it’s not enough activity to stave off the softness growing around his stomach. Maybe the hood on his face will prevent him from stuffing his mouth so often with the snacks served at meetings.

He's been letting himself go! He's falling apart like Lorule without its Triforce! How could he have neglected his physical side for so long? He supposes his body is easy to disregard when he lives mostly in his head. But doesn't he want to look presentable for Link, if not for himself? Sure, his husband has given him the odd compliment on his physical appearance every year or so— he’s not the talkative or verbally expressive sort. Link’s favorite way to express his affection is to look silently into Ravio’s eyes and hold his gaze until Ravio gets nervous and starts babbling. A part of him can’t believe that still works, but the rest of him is glad it does.

By the time the door to their house opens and Link steps inside, Ravio has, by mourning his lost youth and vitality, worked himself up into a silently sobbing frenzy. Because he's uncommonly quiet— no cheerful greeting, no singing to himself— as the tears drip down his face and make an uncomfortable wet spot on the front of his hood, Link notices something is awry when Ravio lets loose with a mighty sniff at the kitchen counter.

“Chopping onions?” Link calls from across the room, and when no answer is forthcoming, he makes his way to the kitchen area and takes in his partner’s unusual choice in headgear. Seeing the ostentatious hat transports him back in time for a moment, and he smiles to himself when he remembers back to when he thought Ravio was simply an odd merchant taking advantage of his generosity to stay in his house and operate a storefront there for free. He’d grown on him since then, of course. After a few months they were inseparable, and once their countries’ Triforces had been restored and a permanent bridge had been made between Hyrule and Lorule they were free to live their lives together. Years of wedded bliss followed, and now here he stands in what was once only Ravio’s house, wondering what in the world his husband is getting up to. It’s such a characteristic thing for him to do— make a change first and explain it away afterwards. Whatever the reason is for dragging out his vintage costume, the mystery won’t last long. Ravio hasn’t been able to keep a secret from Link since he’s moved to Lorule.

In the meantime, Link can make his own assumptions. His eyes roam over Ravio’s covered body, feeling strangely excited about being prevented from seeing the back of his head or his beautifully pointed ears. He walks up to Ravio, peeking over his shoulder to make sure he’s not inserting himself into a potentially hazardous situation, one possibly involving knives, and wraps his arms around his waist in a modified hug. Ravio’s neck is bare above his collarless shirt, allowing his hat to wobble without the anchoring effect of a scarf supporting its rim as Link nuzzles the side of his neck. 

“Those sandwiches can wait,” Link says, tightening his hold on Ravio’s torso. “I think I’m hungry for you instead.”

“I’m flattered, really,” Ravio answers in a listless, flat tone. “But I don’t think I’m up to it right now.”

“Oh, okay.” Link takes a step back and pats him on the shoulder. He’s guessed wrong, but there’s no harm done. It isn’t the first time he has misread Ravio’s cues, and he doubts it'll be the last. “Tough time at work? Princess problems?” He sits down at the dining table and studies Ravio’s back as he adds the finishing touches to the sandwiches. The Lorulean’s shoulders are riding high as he hunches over his work, and he seems, despite the added bulk and height of the long-eared hood, to have shrunk by half a foot. 

“It’s...” Ravio sighs. “It’s nothing.” He turns to face the table, plates aloft in his trembling, weakened grip. Somehow he makes it to the table without dropping anything.

They eat in relative silence. Even burdened under his level of distress, Ravio is a talkative companion, asking Link about his latest blacksmithing project and throwing in a few comments about his own day, but his attention is miles away. All his thoughts keep circling back to his impending death.

Incapable of subtly easing into a new topic of conversation, Ravio asks Link if he wouldn’t like to have a baby someday. In return, Link chokes on his last bite of sandwich and stammers, “I thought Sheerow was your baby!”

Ravio looks over to his faithful feathered companion, who is fast asleep on a perch high up on top of a bookshelf. Superficially resembling a bird, the white and blue creature has been by his side since he was a boy, and he wonders how many more years of friendship they have left to share. Although Sheerow gets up to greet the morning as early as ever with his cheerful chirps, he spends most of the rest of the day and all night sleeping. He must be coming to the end of his natural lifespan, too. Ravio’s lip trembles at the thought of laying his little friend to rest one day soon, but is distracted from his morose idea by the sound of Link’s voice.

“Besides, where would we find one?” continues Link, as if babies were plucked from bushes or discovered beneath rocks in the wilderness.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Ravio replies, waving a dismissive hand. “It was just a stray thought of mine. Don’t you think we’re too _old_ to grow our family?” he asks pointedly, but Link doesn’t pick up on his emphasis. Ravio is silent through the rest of their time together, and only after Link clears the table, thanks him for a delicious meal, and kisses him on the oversized buck teeth of his ridiculous hood is he able to speak up again, bidding him goodbye with a level of melancholy usually reserved for a final parting.

* * *

Back at the castle, Princess Hilda takes one look at Ravio’s behatted visage and bursts into delighted laughter. The noise falls from her lips like windchimes on a summer day, light and loving, and so unlike the way she used to sound under Yuga’s influence. 

“What in the world are you wearing that ratty old thing for, Ravio? Who are you hiding from now?”

No excuse of his will stand up to her scrutiny, so he tells her the truth without delay. “Deep down, I guess I thought if I hadn't gone totally grey by now, it would never happen,” he finishes somberly. In his earliest memories of his parents, both of them have grey hair, and in later ones, the grey has been replaced by white. He’s older now than they were when they died, and far luckier, but it seems as though his luck has finally run out.

Ravio looks down at his hands as he waits for Hilda’s judgement, expecting to see thin, liver-spotted skin draping over thickened, knotty knuckles, but his fingers stretch out in straight lines from his palms. The middle finger on his left hand is indented and callused where he rests his pen, and next to it, snugly encircling his ring finger, his wedding ring softly gleams. It’s been a part of him for years and years, going unnoticed most days. He gives it an experimental tug, and finds with some relief that it slips over his knuckle with little resistance. Pushing it back in place, he glances at his right hand. The pinky is unnaturally short, nailless from an injury taken many years back when he and Link were still clearing Lorule of monsters. It hurts before storms, warning him with a phantom ache before the wind shifts and clouds gather overhead. He’s taken it as a sign of luck— who doesn’t like a bit of personal weather predicting?— but recently he’s noticed the pain spreading down his hand and lingering longer than it used to.

He tunes back in as Hilda’s voice becomes more insistent. “...everyone gets older, it’s a fact of life! You’re not dying, in fact, you’re not even that old! A few grey hairs does not make you ancient!” She’s in the middle of giving him a pep talk, and from the sounds of it, she’s about ready to shake some sense into him if he doesn’t reply soon. He nods, making sure the movement is exaggerated enough to shift his hood along with his head, and the princess continues, “Look, I’ll let you in on a little secret. A royal secret, so don’t go blabbing about this to anyone else, understand?”

Ravio nods harder, ears flopping back and forth. He loves secrets. Being entrusted with holding and then diplomatically releasing secrets is one of his favorite aspects of his job.

She stands taller and lowers her voice. “I have been dying my hair since the age of fifteen.”

Ravio gasps in incredulous shock. How could it be? Princess Hilda, so regal, so imposing, so gorgeous and full of quiet energy, dyes her hair?

“Purple isn’t exactly a natural hair color, in case you never noticed,” she says, a note of irony creeping into her voice. “I started going grey from stress as soon as the crown was placed on my head!”

“Gosh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed…”

“It’s understandable, I suppose,” she says with a gracious wave of her hand. “You’ve never known my hair to look otherwise.” She points at Ravio’s hood. “Let those greys grow out and in a few more years, you’ll look distinguished. The other council members might start taking your suggestions seriously by then!”

“I don't think I have that long to wait,” he mutters, half-hoping she can't hear the despondent tone in his words, but she scoffs and rolls her eyes in the most un-princess-like manner he’s ever seen.

“Nobody ages overnight, unless they’ve been cursed, of course… but that hasn’t happened to you, now, has it?” she asks rhetorically. Her confident, even tone comforts him as they walk down the corridor to the library, but it isn’t enough to convince him to remove his hood.

* * *

That night before bedtime, after extinguishing the lights around the house, Ravio takes off his oversized hat and places it by the side of the bed where he’ll be able to find it in the lightless morning. One single candle is left glowing on Link’s side of the bed, where he sits under the covers with a book in his hands. Link abandons his reading material and levels a curious, expectant look at Ravio when he feels the bed give way under his weight.

“What’s that look for?” asks Ravio.

“Aren’t you going to wear _that_ to bed?” Link replies with a suggestive twitch of his eyebrows.

Ravio shakes his head. “Sorry, buddy. It’ll interfere with my beauty sleep.” _And goddess knows I’m going to need it,_ he thinks. 

“I didn’t think you were going to _sleep_ in it,” says Link, laying it on thick. “Could you wear it… for me? You won’t have to keep it on for long, I know you’re ready for bed.” His hopeful attitude radiates from him in warm waves.

Ravio is beginning to see a silver lining to the grey cloud of his vanity, and reaches down to the floor to pick the hood up by its ears. “Is the hat enough, or do you want me to call you Mr. Hero, too?”

* * *

In the morning, Ravio takes a sheet of paper and a pencil from the writing desk and tiptoes on creaking joints over to the window. He writes a note by the first light of dawn, regretfully canceling the standing lunch date he has with Link. In a large, loopy hand, he prints _Too much work — fend for yourself at lunch_ without giving further details. He adds half a dozen hearts and a big, sad, frowning face to the note before taking it to the kitchen table and placing it at Link’s spot. Snack in hand, bunny ears in place on his head, he leaves for the castle with a determined set to his steps. _I could keep this up for the rest of my life,_ he thinks. _This hood is better than a hat… it covers my wrinkles, too!_

* * *

Link comes home from work in the evening a little later than his usual arrival time, but he has a good excuse. He’s been picking berries, and he presents the bucket of them to Ravio like a treasure chest full of rupees.

“What are those for?”

“They’re for you, you goof! You seemed kind of sad yesterday, so I thought some berries might cheer you up.” Link shrugs, trying to be nonchalant, but the gesture fails to hide the concern creasing his face. “They’re just how you like them— no leaves, no dirt, and no bugs!”

The kind offering breaks Ravio’s determination to hold his emotions in check. His eyes well with tears and his words come out choked and wavering. “How are you both the sweetest and the dumbest man I have ever laid eyes on in my entire life? Can’t you see that I’m hiding something from you? Aren’t you curious as to why I’m wearing this stupid hood over my face?” He stops short, panting from the effort of his outburst. If he keeps this up for long, he’ll have a heart attack! There are so many risks to be aware of in his advanced age.

Link takes awhile to answer, and he fills the silence by putting the bucket on the table. “I thought it was for old time’s sake, but you never explained yourself.” He rubs the back of his neck thoughtfully. “I didn’t want to upset you by bringing it up if you weren’t going to talk about it, but I see now that I should have asked.” The look on his face as he waits for Ravio to speak serves as an apology and a request wrapped up in one direct stare.

Cowed by the force of Link's gaze, Ravio slowly removes the hat from his head and shakes out his hair. He meets Link's eyes and feels a surge of courage and despondency swirl sickeningly within his stomach, but he holds his head steady.

Link stares at him blankly. This is not the reaction Ravio expects. A sympathetic frown, perhaps, or a whole-body shudder of despair as Link realizes the love of his life is one foot in the grave, but not a vacant stare like he's missed the entire point of Ravio covering up his whole head. He sighs, holding back tears, and says, “I’m dying.”

Link’s face falls, his shoulders draw in, and Ravio feels vindicated for a second before Link asks, “Like, right now? Are you sick? Is it contagious? Tell me what it is so I can go find a cure!”

Even though Ravio feels like he’s days away from death, he doesn’t want to give the wrong impression. “It’s not an illness,” he confesses, and gestures toward his hair. “Why didn't you tell me that I'm going grey? You see me every day, surely you've noticed— it's spreading like wildfire!”

“You're doing what now?” Link moves closer to his distraught husband, catching the hands Ravio's wringing in distress and giving them a soothing squeeze. “Hmmm, I can't quite tell from where I'm standing. Why don't you come here?” He pulls Ravio over to a chair and tugs at his hands until he sits. From his higher vantage point, Link circles around to view all sides of his inky black hair, and confirms, “Ah, I see it now. It’s quite striking!” Ravio chokes back a sob while Link searches for more silver strands, parting his hair with thick, strong fingers that are speckled with innumerable scars. “Do you remember when you thought you were shrinking?” 

Ravio doesn’t wait for Link to make his point, saying, “This is completely different!” as he stands up and jams the hat back on his head. “I’m not imagining this!” he huffs. He remembers the incident perfectly well, because Link brings it up every so often to tease him. About a decade ago Ravio, being so used to privation and hardship while growing up, wore his single pair of boots so long the soles wore all the way down. He only noticed the change in his height when he went to kiss Link while they were both standing and planted a big smooch on his chin instead of his lips. He had been inconsolable for a week until Link made the connection between his own sturdy new boots and Ravio’s paper-thin old ones.

“I’m not saying you are, but maybe this isn’t the catastrophe you’re making it out to be...”

Ravio interrupts Link to tell him all the ways he’s wrong. “I’m old, and ugly, and weak, and I’m going to die, and... I’m scared!” Every time he pauses in his elaborations to take a breath, Link starts talking, but Ravio runs right over him. He’s been holding in all his fears for a whole day, and he can’t take it anymore. ”What if you want to trade me in for a newer model? What if I don’t die right away and I experience a painful, undignified descent into my twilight years? What if I go blind? Or deaf? Or both? Or bald?” 

Link waits with patience borne of years, and when Ravio finally runs out of steam he says, “What I’m trying to tell you is that I fell in love with you before I even saw your face. You are… _you._ It doesn’t matter what you wear, or how tall you think you are, or what color your hair is. I love you, and a few grey hairs or wrinkles isn’t going to change that.” He grabs the sides of the bunny hood. “Can I take your hood off? I never can tell what you’re doing under there.” Ravio nods his permission and all that’s left between them is the thinnest of mental barriers. “I wish you could see yourself how I see you.” He holds onto Ravio’s shoulders, and with nowhere else to look, Ravio can see the love reflected in Link’s face. “You’re handsome, and brave, and even if you looked as bad as you think—which you don’t!—I love you and I always will. And besides, I’m aging right along with you.”

Link’s pep talk works in a way that Princess Hilda’s didn’t. Maybe it’s because it’s like listening to a better version of himself tell him everything he wants to hear. Or maybe it’s because Link has never once lied to Ravio, not about the things that are really important. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because this speech comes with kisses—ones so hot they feel like they’re fresh out of the forge.

Link reluctantly breaks their embrace to tell Ravio in a low voice, “Your hair looks like shooting stars in a moonless night.”

The uncharacteristically poetic phrase makes Ravio’s breath catch in his throat. “Do you really think so?” he squeaks.

“Yes I do, and I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true!” A peevish look crosses his face as he continues, “And you think I can’t take a compliment!” He smooths a lock of Ravio’s hair behind his ear. “Honestly, you look great! It must be a Lorulean thing… I mean, check out Princess Hilda! She looks the same as she did the first time I met her, well, she looks a lot happier now, but you know what I mean…”

“That’s because she dyes her hair,” Ravio says without thinking, and his eyes widen and he claps his hands over his traitorous mouth when he realizes what he’s just said. “Don’t tell anyone! Especially the princess! She’ll throw me in the dungeon if the word gets out!”

They both laugh at his slip-up, though Ravio’s is closer to nervously guilty giggles than a true laugh. With the mood considerably lightened, Ravio settles down enough to concentrate on the gift he’s been given, and he decides that the berries will taste best if cooked in a pie. He’ll eat only one slice, he promises to himself. The rest can go with Link to the blacksmith’s shop. If he takes it to the castle, he’ll eat it all for breakfast.

 _Maybe getting old isn’t such a big deal after all,_ Ravio considers as he prepares for baking by storing his hood back in the wardrobe. After a moment of hesitation, he places the fuzzy purple object on a shelf at eye-height instead of burying it in its neglected depths, where it will serve as a reminder to stay brave against an enemy he knows he will fall to one day. And besides, it isn’t like he’s the one looking at himself all the time. That is for Hilda and Link and everyone else to deal with. From what he’s been told, they are dealing with it just fine. Better than he is, to be sure.

Ravio walks back to the kitchen, trying to shove the remainder of his existential crisis to the back of his mind so it will stop frightening him and he can attempt to enjoy the rest of the night. He’s promised Link and himself that he'll take life one day at a time, but he didn’t include confronting the day in his promise. The prospect of sliding back into blissful denial calls to him almost as strongly as the berries do. It’s not the healthiest way of coping, but it’s better than bursting into tears at the sight of a grey hair or eating all his feelings. His resolve wavers and his panic comes rushing back, however, when he takes a jar of flour off the shelf and hears Link say, “I saw the cutest babies when I swung by the orphanage earlier today!”


End file.
